


smile for the bad days

by plumtrees



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College, Fluff, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, just ot4 taking care of each other and being cute, more gen than shippy i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 05:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8476363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumtrees/pseuds/plumtrees
Summary: Matsukawa shakes his head, doesn’t move away when Oikawa reaches up to sweep a hand over his hair, neatening them out, long fingers slipping in the loops of curls and tugging gently, brushing them back into place.
  “I admire the fact that you’re working so hard,” Oikawa whispers, so softly he’s sure that the words are only meant for him to hear, “but your health comes first. Won’t you take care of yourself a bit more, Mattsun?”
  He smiles, leans back into the couch as Oikawa continues to brush through his hair. “But you guys are doing such a good job of it already.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wafflesquire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflesquire/gifts).



> AAAANNN HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYYY
> 
> take care of yourself pls >:

It takes Matsukawa a while.

The realization comes to him in bits and pieces: how the three others wash and put away their dishes immediately after eating, despite the _Issei_ written in red marker beside the column for _Wash dishes_ in their chore table; how he comes back home to find his side of the room cleaned up, not enough for things to be completely relocated from where he’d last left them, but at least enough to not make it look like the aftermath of an earthquake; how they do their business around the small apartment a little more quietly, a little more considerately, rarely ever doing anything to disturb him.

Part of him feels guilty when it finally hits. Part of him is too tired to be. He sighs and continues to squint at the blinking cursor on the word processor. His headphones are on but the playlist had died out long before he’d finished editing his methodology. He wants to go refresh it, but the ambient noise of his three housemates pattering outside isn’t so bad.

He chews his lips, scrapes his teeth over the skin in frustration when inspiration doesn’t come. He checks the clock. He’s got two hours before he has to send in whatever he’s finished for the week. He Alt-Tabs to the journal he’s reviewing, but the figures and calculations muddle into a mess before his eyes and he blinks furiously, slapping his laptop lid shut and groaning, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

He almost jumps when the knock comes, and only manages to sit up a bit straighter when the door opens to reveal Hanamaki.

“Issei?”

“Yeah?” he sighs, leaning back against his headboard, pulling up his laptop to resume working. Given the time, Hanamaki is only probably going to ask him about—

“Dinner.”

“I’ll eat later.” he replies, wholly on habit. He doesn’t even know why they keep up with this routine, when he hasn’t eaten dinner with them in weeks.

“You’ll eat _now_ , Mattsun.”

Matsukawa looks up sharply. The door is open a little wider to accommodate Oikawa, sidling up behind Hanamaki to give him a stern glare. “You haven’t been eating properly in weeks. How do you expect to finish your thesis if you’re sick?”

He prepares a counter-argument, but Iwaizumi’s head pops out from behind Oikawa’s shoulder, and now it’s _three_ sets of eyes glaring at him, and just like that, Matsukawa’s pulling off his headphones with a sigh, a smart enough man to know when he’s lost.

“I did not spend the past hour cooking just so you can skip out on it.” Iwaizumi snaps. “Dinner. Now.”

 _I did not_ ask _you to make me dinner so how is this my fault?_ Matsukawa wants to say, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. Begrudgingly, he taps Ctrl+S on his keyboard to save whatever measly progress he’d made since the last time he saved it, and allows Oikawa and Hanamaki to grab him by the wrists and bodily drag him out.

Even with their combined contributions, there’s only so much luxury four college students can afford. The apartment is decent, but the kitchen is only large enough for a sink, a stove, and enough counter space to prep ingredients. When they can spare the time to eat together, they huddle up in the living room; legs crossed under the table in front of the TV, eating in mismatched bowls that came free from some convenience store promo. Nobody ever lays out serving dishes anymore, with each person just grabbing rice straight from the cooker and picking out meat and vegetables from whatever pots and pans Hanamaki cooked in, using mugs for a little bit of miso soup that Iwaizumi always makes.

But today, there are plates. Spoons and forks. Plastic chopsticks in a small holder. Crystal glasses that Matsukawa almost forgot they actually own. The rice is still steaming from under a generously-sized burger and chunks of vegetables swimming in curry sauce. He’s sat in front of one of the prepared plates, and he discreetly swallows the drool building up when the smell hits him.

Iwaizumi cracks open a bottle of soda and Hanamaki turns on the TV. It lands in some primetime hospital drama that he knows Hanamaki and Oikawa like to watch, because the medical terms and hospital procedures are accurate, because the lead nurse is cute. The cola fizzles out as it’s poured into his glass and he blinks.

“Is there something I’m forgetting?” he asks, only to get three confused glances directed at him.

“You usually leave me alone when I say I can’t go to dinner.” he explains. “And what’s with the set-up?” he points vaguely at the table, at Iwaizumi pouring his drink for him, at the carefully-plated meal in front of him, his own burger obviously bigger than the other three now that he’s actually close enough to notice.

Iwaizumi shrugs, tipping back the bottle to cap it. “You’ve been overworking yourself lately. Don’t you think you deserve a little break every once in a while?”

Matsukawa thinks of his manuscript, the journal he needs to review, the other requirements he’s been putting off just to get his thesis done. He smiles sarcastically behind a swig of cola. “I really don’t think I’ve done enough to deserve a treat.”

Hanamaki clicks his tongue from Oikawa’s right. “You’ve stuck with our asses for almost seven years now, I think that deserves a medal.”

“Hey!” Oikawa huffs. “Being in my presence is an _honor_.”

Matsukawa nearly chokes on his coke, quickly setting it down when Oikawa turns an offended glare at him. “Better get that medal made, Taka.”

Oikawa slaps his shoulder, but for all that muscle and all those years of jump serves behind him, it doesn’t even sting. Matsukawa gives him a toothy grin, wide and playful in penance until Oikawa melts and smiles in exasperation.

They say _thank you for the food_ in unison, their voices echoing through the small space alongside TV dialogue. Matsukawa slices into his burger, almost groaning when the cheese oozes out of it beautifully. He hears Hanamaki snicker, a click of a camera, but he’s a simple man with simple pleasures and when faced with a perfectly-cooked cheese-filled burger steak, the world could be collapsing all around him in apocalyptic chaos and he would still be the happiest man alive.

He takes his first bite and moans, plants an elbow on the table, drops his fork to pinch the bridge of his nose, discretely wiping away his tears. Oikawa is throwing a fit beside him, going _He’s crying, he’s crying, no way!_ and Iwaizumi’s grabbing his wrists, and the couch is creaking behind him, Hanamaki’s knees knocking against his shoulders as he tries to get a look at his face.

“Wow, was Hajime’s cooking that bad? Should I call the ambulance?”

“Fuck off, Hanamaki.”

“Guys move your hands I’m trying to immortalize this moment!”

He swallows and coughs out a laugh, smacking all their wandering hands (and Oikawa’s phone) away.

“He’s alive.” Hanamaki declares flatly, leaning forward to wrap arms around his neck, plant his chin on his head.

“Was it too spicy? Too hot? Too much cheese?” Iwaizumi asks anxiously, glass of coke at the ready, the tissue he was trying to give all crumpled up in his other hand.

“No.” Matsukawa coughs, chokes on a few more puffs of laughter. “Are you kidding Hajime, your burgers are the best.”

“What about his buns?” Hanamaki asks from above him, humming lecherously, then immediately letting out yelps of pain when Oikawa pinches his ear.

“That’s enough of that, Makki. Let Mattsun eat. You should too.” he scolds, pulling Hanamaki back down to sit beside him. He settles down with a pout, but obediently starts on his own meal, eyes glued on the TV now that the cute nurse is talking.

Matsukawa shakes his head, doesn’t move away when Oikawa reaches up to sweep a hand over his hair, neatening them out, long fingers slipping in the loops of curls and tugging gently, brushing them back into place.

“I admire the fact that you’re working so hard,” Oikawa whispers, so softly he’s sure that the words are only meant for him to hear, “but your health comes first. Won’t you take care of yourself a bit more, Mattsun?”

He smiles, leans back into the couch as Oikawa continues to brush through his hair. “But you guys are doing such a good job of it already.”

Oikawa chuckles, low and melodious and sweet, pats his cheek before turning to Hanamaki, who is whispering something about the cute nurse and a misdiagnosis and something-something-kidneys-something-dialysis and at this point Matsukawa stops listening.

As dinner progresses, they eventually tuck a little closer together, enjoying each other’s silent company over a good meal and the ticklish, fizzy feeling in his stomach that Matsukawa blames on the soda.

“Thanks guys.” Matsukawa mutters over the gentle buzz of music from the TV’s tinny speakers. They don’t reply, but Oikawa and Iwaizumi lean over and rest their heads on his shoulders, and Hanamaki stretches out his legs to settle socked feet over his lap.

For the first time in a while, he allows himself to relax.

**Author's Note:**

> [waves](http://plumtreeforest.tumblr.com)~


End file.
